as to hint, that had he not expected Hans he would not have rode out this evening without his groom. So the Wild One jumped on his horse again, and put the bag before him. It was nearly morning when Hans found himself at the door of his own cottage; and, bowing very respectfully to the Spirit Hunter, he thanked him for the sport, and begged his share of the night’s spoil. This was all in joke, but Hans had heard that ‘talk to the devil, and fear the last word;’ and so he was determined, now that they were about to part, not to appear to tremble, but to carry it off with a jest. ‘Truly, Hans,’ said the Huntsman, ‘thou art a bold lad, and to encourage thee to speak to wild huntsmen again, I have a mind to give thee for thy pains the whole spoil. Take the bag, knave, a moss-man is good eating; had I time I would give thee a receipt for sauce;’ and, so saying, the Spirit rode off, laughing very heartily. Well, sir, Hans was so anxious to examine the contents of the bag, and see what kind of thing a moss-man really was, for he had only caught a glimpse of him in the chase, that instead of going to bed immediately, and saying his prayers, as he should have done, he lighted a lamp and undid the string; and what think you he took out of the bag? As sure as I am a born sinner, his own child!” “‘Tis a wonderful tale,” said Vivian; “and did the unfortunate man tell you this himself?” “Often and often. I knew Left-handed Hans well. He was ranger, as I said, to a great lord; and was quite a favourite, you see. For some reason or other he got out of favour. Some said that the Baron had found him out a-poaching; and that he used to ride his master’s horses a-night. Whether this be true or not, who can say? But, howsoever, Hans went to ruin; and instead of being a flourishing active lad, he was turned out, and went a-begging all through Saxony; and he always told this story as the real history of his misfortunes. Some say he is not as strong in his head as he used to be. However, why should we say it is not a true tale? What is that?” almost shrieked Essper. Vivian listened, and heard distinctly the distant baying of hounds. “‘Tis he!” said Essper; “now don’t speak, sir, don’t speak! and if the devil make me join him, as may be the case, for I am but a cock-brained thing, particularly at midnight, don’t be running after me from any foolish feeling, but take care of yourself, and don’t be chattering. To think you should come to this, my precious young master!” “Cease your blubbering! Do you think that I am to be frightened by the idiot tales of a parcel of old women, and the lies of a gang of detected poachers? Come, sir, ride on. We are, most probably, near some huntsman’s cottage. That distant baying is the sweetest music I have heard a long while.”